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In this story, I light candles. I’m Joanne Greene.
There are candles and then there are candles.
I suppose it would work to light a candle for light with a lighter, say in a blackout. But a candle lit for romance…or to remember a lost loved one…or on Friday night to punctuate the week and usher in the Sabbath….Well, those candles require a match.
The striking of a match is the start of the ritual. I rip the match from its little book and position it with certainty, optimistic that my first strike will be a winner. If it isn’t, there’s generally another match and the knowledge that it was probably moisture, or a life lived too long in the junk drawer that caused it to fail. When it works, it’s an old familiar scraping sound followed by a tiny burst of flame – the promise of connection to come. I turn the match slightly so that the flame won’t extinguish prematurely and then wait for the zing, when the fire’s been transferred from cardboard to rope and the relief that this one took. And, then perhaps my favorite moment, I or someone in the room being honored, maybe a child or a visitor, blows out the match. I bring the match to my nose and inhale the sulpher. It’s an ancient deep in my soul memory of earth and life itself, a harbinger of timelessness, of the paise between words, between doing and being. It brings on Shabbat, a break in the action, permission to check out, to breathe, to drink wine, to let go of obligation and performance. “A palace in time,” said Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in which all is suspended. It’s a gift we’re too distracted and caught up with ourselves to unwrap.
Lighting candles is the start. I usher in the quiet, the warmth, the memory, the pause with three strokes of my hands, ceremonially drawing in the light. Everything is different once the candles are lit. But, just in case, we take a few more moments to sip some wine, think about creation, and express gratitude for bread – a true partnership between what we’ve been given and what we can create. On a perfect Friday night, there’s honest conversation, reflection, laughter, and connection. There’s food and more wine and far too infrequently an awareness of separation from the mundane or unholy from the sacred. And that’s just the weekly candle lighting. There are others.
There’s a yahrzeit or memorial candle that I light on the anniversary of a family member’s death. Four times a year I strike that particular match and say a prayer, often pulling out a letter or a pair of socks, a photo, or his silly Hawaiian shirt…to surround myself with the closest bit of essence I can find. I inhale and try to summon in a piece of presence, a whiff of what once lived, a hint of what I miss.
Not all candle lighting is sacred. Sometimes, it’s just to set the frame, establishing a mood for doing yoga, of calming down for the night, or elevating a particular dinner with special ambiance. In those cases, any match will do. I may not even take time for a sniff once the match is blown out. It’s not the act, I guess, but the intention. We imbue our actions with meaning and lighting candles has the potential to transform.